


More to You than I Thought

by Q_loves_you



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_loves_you/pseuds/Q_loves_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson's perspective on parts of 1x12. Maybe Stiles is more than Jackson gives him credit for. Not that Jackson would ever say that. I guess it could be read as Stiles/Jackson? Maybe? If you wanted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	More to You than I Thought

Jackson Whittemore was widely acknowledged to be kind of an ass, and he could not honestly argue that this reputation was undeserved. He cared far too much about his reputation, was a crappy best friend to Danny sometimes, and broke up with Lydia via text with no apparent remorse. He would defend himself by saying that he went to save Lydia when she was dying on the lacrosse field, but really, wouldn’t anybody? Anyway, now he was standing in a room in a hospital with several hunters, watching a guy he had never really cared about and had often bullied get shoved into a wall.

“Let me ask you a question, Stiles. Have you ever seen a rabid dog?” Chris Argent said, holding Stiles up by the front of his shirt.

“No,” Stiles said, “I could put it on my to-do list if you just let me go.” He sounded scared of course, but at the same time there was that ubiquitous sarcasm in his voice.

“Well I have,” Chris said, “And the only thing I’ve ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you want to know what happened?”

“Not really, no offense to your story-telling skills,” Stiles said. Jackson couldn’t help but be slightly impressed with the amount of control and non-panic Stiles was able to achieve.

“He tried to kill me.” Chris’s statement sent a slight shudder up Jackson’s spine. He could just imagine Danny or some other friend turning into a bloodthirsty beast out for his blood. “And I was forced to put a bullet in his head,” Chris continued, poking Stiles hard in the forehead for emphasis. “The whole while as he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath.” Jackson suppressed another shudder, watching with increasing fear. “Can you imagine that?” Chris demanded. Jackson felt that he probably couldn’t, and was not surprised when Stiles shook his head.

“No, and it sound like you need to be a little more selective-” Stiles was cut off as Chris slammed the wall on either side of him.

“Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?” he half-shouted. “Did you have to lock him up?”

“Yeah, I did. I had to handcuff him to a radiator. Why?” Stiles asked. Jackson stared, but Stiles wasn’t done yet. “Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?” Now Jackson was seriously confused. What did that have to do with anything? Chris sighed and backed off a bit.

“I hate to dispel a popular rumor, Stiles, but we never did that,” he said.

“Oh, right. Derek said you guys had a code,” Stiles said with the air of someone who knew that he had the upper hand now. “I guess no one ever breaks it.”

“Never.”

“What if someone does?”  
…

The road ahead was lit only by the headlights of Jackson’s Porsche as Stiles drove at top speed toward the woods. The Molotov cocktails sloshed slightly in the cup holders. Jackson glanced sideways at Stiles. Despite the dire situation they and his car were in, he couldn’t help trying to imagine him handcuffing Scott to a radiator; trying to imagine Scott trying to kill him. Those two had been best friends for a long time, he knew, and he honestly couldn’t imagine either of them like that. He had always imagined Stiles as an annoying, sarcastic, kind of stupid, relatively nice, hyperactive geek. He glanced at him again. This Stiles was someone different, someone who was still annoying and sarcastic and hyperactive, but also competent, smart, and tougher than he looked. Then he took a sharp turn that nearly burned rubber and the only thing Jackson felt about him anymore was annoyance.


End file.
